I just want you inside, baby, we don't need to talk about promises.
Then at certain moments I remember one of his words and I suddenly feel the sensual woman flaring up, as if violently caressed. I say the word to myself, with joy. It is at such a moment that my true body lives.
I love giving the golden shower. I've done it before in the shower. It's like so sexy, you know, the temperature of your body and the shower water is very different.
She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.
He called her a melon, a pineapple, an olive tree, an emerald, and a fox in the snow all in the space of three seconds; he did not know whether he had heard her, tasted her, seen her, or all three together.
When soul rises Into lips You feel the kiss You have wanted
The lover is drawn by the thing loved, as the sense is by that which it perceives.
What is erotic? The acrobatic play of the imagination. The sea of memories in which we bathe. The way we caress and worship things with our eyes. Our willingness to be stirred by the sight of the voluptuous. What is erotic is our passion for the liveliness of life.
Rippling, rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and melting her all molten inside.
Oh, yes, that feels so good," I moaned, and instead of punching Ian, pulled him closer. Breath tickled my neck as he laughed. "I know. I'm truly gifted.
Rock and Roll: Music for the neck downwards.
The first undressing of two lovers is a most special event.
There's a very fine line between pleasure and pain. They are two sides of the same coin, one not existing without the other.
As I kissed her the heat of her body increased, and it exhaled a wild, untamed fragrance.
He bit the inside of his cheek, Death purring wildy. The pleasure of her touch, even one so innocent, rocked him to the core.
When I have eaten mangoes, I have felt like Eve.
No nude, however abstract, should fail to arouse in the spectator some vestige of erotic feeling... The desire to grasp and be united with another human is so fundamental a part of our nature that our judgement of what is known as 'pure form' is inevitably influenced by it, and one of the difficulties of the nude as a subject for art is that these instincts cannot be hidden.
As a painter, cursed or blessed with a terrible and vital sensuousness, I must look for wisdom with my eyes. I repeat, with my eyes, for nothing could be more ridiculous or irrelevant than a 'philosophical conception painted purely intellectually without the terrible fury of the senses grasping each visible form of beauty and ugliness.
Civilization merely develops man's capacity for a greater variety of sensations, and ... absolutely nothing else.
All art is erotic.
No music while making love... the sound of the love being made is better than music.
I always feel a rise in my scalp or in the backs of my wrists when something is special, whether it be a song or a man.
Painting or poetry is made as one makes love - a total embrace, prudence thrown to the winds, nothing held back.
In place of a hermeneutics we need an erotics of art.
Good food does lead to sex. As it should. And in a perfect world, good music does too.
